


But I Will Hold On Hope And I Won't Let You Choke

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, basically fitzsimmons take a shower together but not for sexy reasons, non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But as Simmons stares at the slowly filling bathtub in the motel room she was sharing with Fitz (Coulson had not even tried to separate them, not after everything), she discovers something unfortunate. She is afraid to step into the water. Simmons prided herself on practicality, and being afraid of getting in a bathtub is not practical. But all she can think about is being locked in a metal box under the ocean, and water logged clothes threatening to drag her down as she fights to drag Fitz to the surface, and how a human being can drown in as little as a centimeter of water, and there is much more than that in the motel room’s bathtub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Will Hold On Hope And I Won't Let You Choke

It has been two days since Jemma Simmons pulled her half conscious best friend to the surface of a freezing ocean. It has been two days and a few hours since they both almost died, dropped into the ocean by someone they once considered as close as family. The rich irony of plummeting to her death in a watery grave at the hand of the man who once saved her from that exact fate is not lost on her; she can taste the reality of the situation in her mouth like the iron tang of blood.  
After the team found them, having, Simmons desperately supporting Fitz’s body in the cold ocean, coughing and spluttering and bleeding, things had not improved much. Immediately upon touching on solid ground again, they were attacked, HYDRA agents coming at them from all sides. The whole team was bruised and battered and broken. Fitz had a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a bruised spine. Simmons had a row of jagged stitches on her left shoulder, holding together a gunshot wound, a milder concussion, and a sprained ankle. Trip, Coulson, May and Skye all had wounds to spare, having all been at the forefront of the fight. But they were all alive, and that was what mattered. They were alive and Garret was dead and Ward was locked in a prison cell. 

They’d finally made their way to a motel, and Simmons had not showered since she was hauled out of the ocean. Neither has Fitz. There’s been no time, but she is tired of blood and ash and saltwater and aching muscles. But as she stares at the slowly filling bathtub in the motel room she was sharing with Fitz (Coulson had not even tried to separate them, not after everything), she discovers something unfortunate.  
She is afraid to step into the water. Simmons prided herself on practicality, and being afraid of getting in a bathtub is not practical. But all she can think about is being locked in a metal box under the ocean, and water logged clothes threatening to drag her down as she fights to drag Fitz to the surface, and how a human being can drown in as little as a centimeter of water, and there is much more than that in the motel room’s bathtub. She takes a deep breath and attempts to slide a foot into the warm water, but she freezes, and feels the all too familiar tightness of panic rising into her chest. She wraps a scratchy towel around herself and leans out of the door. 

"Fitz?" she calls softly.  
"Ye alright Jem?" he sits up suddenly, groaning at the pain the sudden motion causes, and she feels a surge of guilt.  
"I um. I have a bit of an odd favor to ask." she stares at her toes.  
"What’s the matter, Jemma?" his voice is low and worried. It has sounded that way for days.  
"I’m afraid to get into the water." her voice is small and almost shameful. Without her actually asking, he understands the question.  
"Won’t that be a bit.. odd? I’m not sayin’ I won’t but…" he trails off.  
"Probably but I. I don’t think I can do it otherwise." she sounds as terrified as she looks, mixed with the embarrassment of the odd request. Fitz nods, and she slips back into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked. After steeling himself a moment, he follows her.  
"I’ll close my eyes while ye get in." he says with a nod, resting his good hand over his face. He can hear the shudder of Simmons’ breath as she hangs up the towel and slips into the tub. He tries to wait to open his eyes but the sharp sound of her breath, a sound he recognizes well, forces his eyes open. She looks terrified. Her eyes are clenched shut and he does not know if it’s to give him privacy or out of terror, so he quickly pulls his tshirt and boxers off, ignoring how strange he feels doing so with her in the room, and slips into the tub behind her, immediately wrapping his arms around her shoulders. 

Almost instantly he feels the muscles in her neck and shoulders relax a little, and she reaches back and forces him to put his injured arm back down. He leans his forehead on the back of her neck.  
All things considered, being naked in a bathtub with her best friend feels much less strange than Simmons would have thought. The solid weight of Fitz behind her quells the waves of panic flowing through her chest, and the thoughts of drowning and falling and slipping from existence slip down to a low roar. She focuses on the way Fitz’s heart beats steadily against her back and lets the hot water soak into her aching muscles. Fitz strokes her neck carefully with one hand. 

"Are ye alright?" he says softly, his chin on her shoulder.  
"Well I won’t be going swimming any time soon but. I think I’m alright." there’s the barest hint of a laugh in her voice.  
"Do y’want me to get out, or do y’want me to stay? I’ll do either."  
"Don’t leave." she tries to keep the desperation from crawling into her voice but it sneaks out, as clear as day.  
"Never." Fitz mumbles, turning slightly to press his nose into her neck. Reaching over slightly, he pulls a washcloth from nearby and dips it into the water. "Turn around." he says softly. She does as he says, spinning herself gently. They are both too exhausted and scared and in pain for it to be awkward for her to be sitting in front of him topless. Truthfully, it never occurs to her to care. Fitz takes the washcloth and sets to work cleaning the blood and dirt from Simmons’ face, working carefully from her hairline to her jaw. His eyes linger on the wound in her shoulder, and she nods, wincing as he runs water over it, gently cleaning off the dried blood. His eyes whisper apologies and she shakes her head, then takes the washcloth from him. Simmons repeats the treatment on him, running soft cloth and careful fingers over his face and neck, careful not to jostle his shoulder. 

"I should wash my hair." she whispers, several minutes later, wringing the washcloth in her nervous hands. Fitz nods, again understanding what she wants without her saying it outright, and reaches around to pull the plug on the tub, before turning the spigot back on to let the water warm up. Once the tub is empty, they pull themselves to their feet, and Simmons switches the shower head on. She stands beneath the spray, her back to Fitz, and wordlessly he picks up the tiny shampoo bottle and squirts most of it into his hands. Lifting his arms to reach Simmons’ hair hurts his shoulder, but he doesn’t care or even notice much, because for whatever reason this is what she needs right now. Simmons lets her eyes close as Fitz lathers her hair with shampoo, his fingers scratching at her scalp and working the tangles and clots of blood from her loose curls. His hands feel nice on her scalp, and the last of the panic releases its hold on her shoulders and she lets herself relax, breathing in the steam of the hot shower. Gently, Fitz tilts her forward, further into the stream of water to rinse her hair for her. He is careful to keep the shampoo from washing in her eyes or the bullet hole in her shoulder. 

Simmons presses a hand into his hip, silently telling him to switch places with her, and he does. She squeezes the rest of the shampoo into her own hands, leaning up to reach Fitz’s curly hair. It is more matted with blood than her was, from the blow that earned him his concussion. her fingers are careful, avoiding the bump at the base of his skull and scratching gently at his scalp. When she rinses it out, she cards her fingers through the curls, tugging them out gently to ensure they wouldn’t tangle. 

When his hair is clean, Simmons lets her hands drop and they stand in the spray of the shower silently, staring at each other. Then suddenly Simmons is sobbing, letting herself collapse forward into Fitz, her arms clutching desperately at his waist and her face pressed into his damp chest, as if he were the only oxygen preventing her from drowning in the mist from the shower. He smoothes her hair and rubs her back, resting his head on her own. He cries too, quiet tears sliding warm and salty down his face and into her hair. Neither can tell which one of them is the one shaking. In reality, it is both of them, but that doesn’t matter. By the time Simmons has run out of tears, the water has started to run cold, and shaking has turned to shivering. Fitz grabs the towels while Simmons turns off the water, wrapping the towel he proffers around her body and speaking for the first time in nearly an hour. 

"Thank you." she says quietly.  
"Of course, Jemma." he murmurs back, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping onto the bathmat. She follows suit, still shivering slightly. "Wait here." he says, his voice soft. He leaves and returns a moment later with a spare jumper, handing it to Simmons for after she dries off. he doesn’t leave the bathroom, opting to stay while she gets dressed, getting dressed himself and staring at his stubbled face in the mirror. He reaches up to stroke his chin, but winces as it tugs wrong on his dislocated right shoulder.  
"Did you bring a razor?"  
"Yeah, why?"  
"Your arm is hurt, Leo. Let me do it for you." it’s a gentle command, but a command nonetheless.  
"Alright. But I’m combing your hair afterwards." she nods in agreement, then sifts through his things, his jumper hanging just barely too long on her arms as she locates his travel toiletries. Turning on the hot water in the sink, she sets out the tube of shaving cream and the razor, and grabs a clean hand towel. After wetting his face, she smoothes shaving cream on it carefully, and sets to work. She shaves slowly and carefully, not wanting to miss or nick his skin. They have both bled enough in the past forty eight hours to last for the rest of their lives without wanting to bleed again. When she has finished, she cleans his face with the hand towel again. Fitz uses his left had to feel his cheeks and nods. "Thank you."  
"Of course. Anything." her voice is still so much smaller than he is used to.  
"Come on." he picks up her comb and a hair tie on their way out of the bathroom, and she sits on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, at the foot of his bed. He sits on the edge, his knees on either side of her shoulders, and begins working the comb through her wet hair. Once all of the snarls are gone, he braids it neatly, tying it off with the band. She turns her head and leans her forehead onto his knee. His hand rubs circles into her neck and neither says anything for a long time. 

"We should probably get some sleep. We’ve been awake for days." when she finally talks she sounds a little like her usual self. Fitz nods.  
"Yeah, you’re right." his statement is punctuated by a loud yawn, and Simmons smiles, just barely.  
She stands and crosses the room, flicking the lights off, and there is no question as to whether she is crawling into her own bed or his. By the time she has reached his bed, he has laid down and is waiting to pull the covers around them both. She folds herself into his side, wrapping him around her and pressing her face into his chest.  
"I thought you were gone. You were so heavy and limp and quiet and I thought you were gone and never coming back." her voice is rough with sadness and exhaustion, muffled by his chest.  
"I thought I was gone, too." he says honestly, stroking the back of her neck. "But I wasn’t. I’m not. I’m here, with you. And that’s the only place I ever want to be again."  
"I love you." she says, a whisper he feels in his chest as much as he hears it in the air.  
"I love you too, Jem." he whispers back, tilting her head away from his chest, and then suddenly there’s no distance between them and they’re kissing like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. It hurts the various injuries to press themselves together, but it doesn’t matter in that moment, because they need to know the other is solid and breathing and real more than anything else in the world. When they pull apart, Fitz is stroking Simmon’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing gentle circles into her skin.  
"I love you." he whispers again.  
"I love you too." she whispers back.  
Those are the last words they say to each other before finally managing to drift off to sleep, surrendering to the week’s exhaustion, clinging to each other like salvation in a violent storm.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Fitz and Simmons bathing together has been getting to me for ages and them dropping into the ocean finally gave me a reason to do it. Hope you enjoyed! Title is from The Cave by Mumford and Sons.


End file.
